


trouble the waters

by Anonymous



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Norse Religion & Lore, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Brother/Brother Incest, Daemon Separation, Daemon Settling, Daemon Touching, Fylgjur As Daemons, M/M, PTSD, Period Typical Attitudes, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22410826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Guriato but with daemons, in the form offylgjurspirits from Norse mythology. That's all.
Relationships: Atli/Torgrim (Vinland Saga)
Kudos: 3
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This AU incorporates most of the daemon lore from His Dark Materials, except that fylgjur don't speak even to their humans, and your choice of animal is limited to those native to your land of origin. Like HDM, your fylgja "settles" around the onset of puberty, which is also roughly when Viking children were considered adults.
> 
> \- The singular is fylgja and the plural is fylgjur.  
> \- Torgrim's fylgja is named Solveig and Atli's is named Gullveig.
> 
> Additional warnings:  
> \- Non-graphic allusions to sexuality in barely pubescent characters  
> \- Mentions of period-typical child discipline, AKA physical abuse

Their parents say that fylgjur appear the first time you take your eyes off a baby for an instant. Torgrim says that's just something they tell kids, and really your fylgja climbs out of your mouth when you burp after being nursed for the first time. Atli's tried asking Gullveig where she came from, but she doesn't remember.

Some of the girls say that fylgjur come out of an egg your mother lays once she's done with you. They're all sure they know best because mothers are girls too, but Atli doesn't think any of them really know. Everybody says he and Torgrim act just like twins, and it makes him think about what would've happened if they had been. And what he keeps coming back to is, if they /had/ been twins then the eggs might've gotten mixed up somehow. There aren't lots of twins in the world, but there are some, and it'd be too confusing for them if it worked like that. Your fylgja has to come out of you somehow, not anybody else.

But wherever they come from, they stay with you your whole life. And beyond that, some people say, although no one can agree on the details. They're not "born" as babies, so some parents use them like guard dogs, or heaters. But there's always a risk, because a lazy fylgja can cause a crib death just as easy as preventing one. When that happens the neighbors help with the burial and then shrug their shoulders and say it was down to the child's own nature, in the end.

There are stories that go around, too, of fathers falling asleep drunk or mothers going out to meet men--for what exactly, Atli's not sure--and finding the room empty of any animal, knowing before they even turn the body over that their baby's dead. It's kind of spooky, the thought of a baby lying there with no fylgja. It always makes Atli shiver. But the stories are all about other villages. Everybody in theirs has the fylgja eat the afterbirth, and that makes it stronger and keeps the baby safe. Atli knows that for sure, because he and his brother are both fine. Their parents say Solveig and Gullveig would even trade guard duty, one of them keeping a watchful eye over both children while the other one took a dirt bath or went out to sun herself.

When Torgrim's twelve he explains to everyone that his Solveig has settled as a boar, and she charges around very impressively. Never too far from Torgrim, of course. The others their age are all starting to settle. Not Atli yet, he's too young, but next year for sure. Nobody else has a boar. They're supposed to be good luck in battle.

He doesn't like that Torgrim waited to tell him at the same time as everyone else. It seems like he has a right to know first. Or like his Gullveig could have let him know, at least. But Solveig's not talking to her about it. Or about anything, really, and instead of being mad at his fylgja, Atli ends up having to comfort her. That's her sister, after all, just like Torgrim's his brother. They go to sleep on the inside of the bed that night, pointedly facing to the wall. Solveig sleeps peacefully on the floor and Torgrim just as peacefully on the outer edge of the bed.

On the second night they do notice, and Torgrim says something about babies throwing tantrums. It's only Gullveig pulling Atli away with a big clawed paw that breaks up the fight, and Solveig butts her head in between them and holds it there until they go to sleep in icy silence, both facing away from each other and not even their backs touching.

When Atli wakes up facing inward and finds two identical striped cats curled between him and his brother, he just stares, for so long Torgrim wakes up too and Atli sees his face turning red behind Solveig.

"Shut up," Torgrim says, sounding more mad than actually ashamed. "You can't tell anybody." He lets go of his fylgja and sits up quickly, leaving her to switch her tail and settle against her sister for comfort.

"Why would you tell everybody she settled?" It's supposed to be a sacred time, the day your fylgja takes the form it'll have for your whole adult life. Someone in the village carves a little wooden version of the animal, and it goes in a special part of the house with all the others from your family line. Some people get bigger ones made too, to go in their grave when they die. They don't have a boar made yet for Solveig, but their dad's asking around to see who does the nicest work.

"She's going to! We can tell already she's going to be a boar. It's just letting people know early."

"Well, you could've told _me_ you were faking."

" _You_ can't keep secrets."

"I can so!" He's kept just about every secret they've ever had. Even Gullveig doesn't let things slip to other kids' fylgjur. Atli's almost ready to fight again, if Torgrim's going to be like this.

"I'm a man now," Torgrim explains, more importantly than he has any right to. "And this is a man's secret. You're still a kid."

"You're not a man until Solveig settles for real." The fylgja in question is licking her sister, front legs wrapped around Gullveig and holding her down firmly. Gullveig's purring, like she's making fun of how much Atli wants to be punching his brother in the face. Maybe this is Solveig's way of apologizing, but it's not doing anything for Atli.

"My whole birth year's almost done settling," Torgrim says desperately. "I can't be the last one."

"I thought men were supposed to be brave and honorable. To their brothers especially."

"I can't be honorable if I don't have any honor to uphold. I'm just making sure you can be proud of me in front of everybody else."

"Proud of us," Atli corrects.

" _I'm_ proud of you," Torgrim says, affronted. "You don't have to think about these things yet, it's not the same for you."

That wasn't who Atli was talking about, but he likes hearing it, so he takes his own fylgja into his arms and says, "Well, you'd better not be hiding anything else now we do know." He watches until Torgrim puts a hand on Solveig too. That's how kids make promises, not men, but Atli's not going to remind him.

"There's nothing else," Torgrim says, and then, squirming a little uncomfortably, "Nothing... that you need to worry about. She'll be really settled soon. So it'll be fixed then."

He means that, at least, whatever he's talking about. Maybe some people can touch their fylgjur while they're lying, but not Atli and Torgrim in front of each other.

"It's just some growing pains, like. You won't be growing too much more, so you don't have to worry about—Ow! Cut it out!"

"I was going to kick you awake," Atli tells him. "I'm just making up for it."

* * *

Solveig doesn't settle 'soon'. Torgrim insists she stay as a boar in public for nearly six months, and by then he's thirteen and Atli's about to be twelve, and Torgrim's more and more annoyed every morning they wake up to find her turned back into something small. Sometimes Gullveig turns into a boar to keep her company, without Atli having to ask. They take up the whole floor and leave the room crowded and smelly, but it's a relief to wake up and find them both still boars, stretched out sleeping back to to back.

Atli can't tell what Solveig's thinking, exactly, but she's his brother's fylgja, and his fylgja's sister, so he has a pretty good idea. He hopes she does end up settling as a boar. Or at least something just as cool. She really wants to. Both because she is Torgrim, and because she can't actually _be_ him, she wants to be something strong and fierce that he can be proud of.

It's an easy feeling to recognize.

They don't go swimming with the other boys much, during those six months. Solveig can swim pretty well as a boar, but Torgrim keeps worrying she might have start having too much fun and turn into something that can dive underwater.

There are people with seal fylgjur who can hardly leave their village at all, unless they have a special little wagon, and others with fish who have to build new houses next to the sea or the pond where their fylgja settled. So it seems to Atli that his brother ought to be enjoying the time he has left, knowing his can walk and swim and even fly, if she wants to. But Torgrim's not happy about it, and he won't follow the other boys when they go up to the lake to wash off the sweat of a day's work. And Atli doesn't like swimming without him, so he doesn't go either.

Some of the other boys are men now, really, but it's hard to think of them like that when his brother can't be one of them. 

It's always fun swimming with fylgjur, even other people's. Sometimes they turn into fish you've never seen even before, things that must live too deep underwater to get pulled up in a fisherman's net. There've been days when they were younger when you could see a whole rainbow of strange fish by dipping your head underwater, all the fylgjur trying to outdo one another and make their boy the coolest one there. That's not going to happen so much anymore, of course, but Atli thinks it might cheer Torgrim up a bit if he can see that there are a few good things about being boys still.

As Gullveig and Solveig float on the surface of the lake, holding paws in the sun, it doesn't look like it's making Torgrim feel any better. And Atli's starting to feel like nothing will. He's been waking up some days to find his brother facing away from him in bed, and he can tell it's not just because they're turning in their sleep. He hasn't had to comfort Gullveig again, but that's only because Solveig's never quite comfortable, and his fylgja's spending all her time trying to cheer her sister up. Convincing Torgrim to come out and swim a little was his last idea.

They're hanging around the edge of the lake, in a spot where the trees start to gather closer. Atli wants to be out in the center, with their fylgjur, but every time he starts inching out there, he looks over to his brother and sees him sticking close to the shadow of the trees, and he stops.

"It doesn't always happen when you're twelve or thirteen," he says to Torgrim. He hasn't brought this up in ages. "I heard some people are sixteen when theirs settle."

"I'm not going to be _sixteen!_ " His brother whirls in the water, angrier than Atli could have anticipated. They drift backwards, both of them, moving away from each other under the canopy of trees. "I told you, it's just a matter of time."

Atli pumps his arms straight up and down, trying to stop moving back. "I just meant that..."

"Don't try talking to me," Torgrim says, "about things you don't—" His head connects with a low-hanging branch and he goes under. It's so fast he doesn't even make a sound.

"Brother!"

He moves forward without thinking, underwater without thinking. It feels like something's grabbing tight on the back of his neck, leaving it colder even than the water around him. He forces his limbs to move fast enough, through the water to his brother, and feels their bodies connect like when they used to cuddle together to keep warm at night. Torgrim's moving, which is a relief, and it's only when he's dragged him halfway onto the land that he notices his brother isn't trying to swim, but fighting back. He pauses for a second, confused, and when Torgrim spits a mouthful of water up at him, he gives up and lets go.

"Get off me, stupid," is the first thing Torgrim says, when they're both done wiping the water out of their eyes.

Atli backs up awkwardly, trying not to get too muddy, and moves cautiously upward onto dryer land. "You're not hurt?"

"Of course not. I'm fine!"

"But you were drowning!"

"Who _drowns_ before their fylgja settles?!" Torgrim glares at him.

Atli looks down to see Gullveig and Solveig both clambering out of the lake, two identically helpful seals. Ready to grab or nudge as needed to move a human onto land, just like everybody's fylgja is when there's trouble in the water.

"I was worried," he mumbles.

"I just knocked my head a little. And it's none of your business, anyway. I can take care of myself." Solveig squirms in distress, and Gullveig joins her, both of them making soft seal sounds in the mud.

Atli reaches for their fylgjur, pulling them into his lap protectively even though they're too big to fit right now. Gullveig comes easily, shifting into a little ferret, but Solveig's smooth wet fur slips away under his hands into something still too large to move. "You've been..." He stops, finding himself breathless for some reason. "You're being such a..."

Torgrim is looking at him dumbstruck, his mouth hanging open and working helplessly. Atli looks down at the rough fur under his right hand, and sees something dark brown, no longer wet from the lake but still rounded like the seal she was a moment ago. Layered with fat for aquatic life. The long, flat tail stretching out behind her doesn't leave any room for doubt.

"A beaver? A _beaver?!_ " Torgrim's voice is hoarse but ringing with muted fury. Solveig puts her little hands up as if embarrassed, but her new arms are too short to reach her face.

Atli pulls his hand away from her awkwardly. He never used to feel uncomfortable around his brother, but lately it seems like he's always tripping or doing the wrong thing. Gullveig peeks up over his knee to peer at her sister, and rubs against his leg, trying to soothe him, but he can feel she's even more nervous than him. "Sorry. I was just..."

"You idiot." Torgrim's up on his knees now, and for a second Atli thinks he's going to punch him. He puts his arms up over his face and Gullveig chirps wildly. "See how you like it!"

Instead of a punch—it feels like a hug. Over his whole body. Gullveig's long ferret body lifts up out of his lap and he goes warm everywhere. Then Torgrim yelps and drops something small in his lap. Something still furry, but in a different way.

Atli moves his arms away and looks down to see a red squirrel looking back up at him, ears twitching.

"Oh, shit," Torgrim says dismally. "I don't think that's supposed to happen."

"They settled," Atli says. They all know what's happened, but he likes hearing the words. "Look, that's _us_ now."

"Shut up, shut up!" Torgrim runs a hand through his hair, agitated. "I'm trying to think." Solveig scrabbles frantically in the dirt, no particular aim in sight.

"You don't have to get so mad." Atli hates seeing him make her uncomfortable. Gullveig doesn't like it either. She's trying out her new voice, a clucking sound Atli already knows well from the forests around the village. "It's not like they're butterflies or mice or something."

"That's not the problem! Everybody's going to know, if we go back and we're both... Shit!"

"Maybe I don't want us to be men, if it makes you hate us," Atli says, gathering Gullveig up and trying to calm her down. She just wants to be with her sister, though, and in her hurry to get down she leaves a score on his inner arm with her powerful new back legs. He lifts it to his mouth, trying to hold the tears back.

"You're the one who touched her!" Torgrim's glaring at him, knees gathered nearly to his chest and rocking a little in distress. "Why would you do that? You know you're not supposed to!"

"She was worried." Atli knows he's a little in the wrong but it just makes him madder about all the ways Torgrim's wrong. "And you've been bullying her for months, and you've been mad at me and Gullveig. All because you wanted her to settle, and now she's settled."

"You weren't supposed to be what made her do it!"

"She was waiting. For us to be ready too." Atli knows it's the truth as soon as he says it.

"No," Torgrim says, in the same instant he knows it too. "Fuck. Look, you can't tell anyone. It's not supposed to happen like this, it happens when you're alone, or—" He breaks off and finishes the sentence with a miserable little moan.

Solveig chatters at him in her new voice, a kind of chirp she doesn't want her sister or Atli to understand yet. It's oddly lonely hearing her do it, even though no one can really understand someone else's fylgja.

"Can't you just leave me alone," Torgrim says, furious, speaking not just to her. "Haven't you done enough?"

"If you want to be alone," Atli says, his voice starting to tremble, "you shouldn't have been born my big brother."

"Stop it!" Torgrim's fist hits the ground like his fylgja's tail against the mud, and he's nearly howling. "Stop being _sad_ , all of you! What am I supposed to do? I didn't make the rules. I didn't make you break them!"

"You touched mine, too."

"Because you started it! I never asked you to, and I never asked you to go around trying to save me. I can take care of myself!"

Atli wishes more than anything that he had his fylgja in his lap to hug, but she won't come to him because they're men now and men have to take care of themselves. "I like taking care of you," he says, around the lump in his throat. "I was scared for you. If you don't want to keep being like we used to, I..."

"Of course I do," Torgrim whispers, and Atli realizes to his surprise that his brother is the one closer to tears. The lump in his throat seems to melt and he stares at Torgrim curiously.

"Why do we have to stop, then?"

"It's grown-up stuff. You wouldn't understand."

"Yes, I would, we're both men now." Both their fylgjur have fallen silent, but there's a stir in the air around them still. "I don't know what I'm going to do," Atli says, feeling the air tighten around him, "if we have to change."

"Oh, leave me alone." It's quieter than before, so miserable that Atli reaches out to take his brother's arm, almost without meaning to.

Instead Torgrim seizes his arm, looking at the inner part of it where his fylgja scratched it earlier. "Why're you bleeding? What happened?"

"I'm fine." Atli lets his brother have it to check, feeling pleased to really have his attention again. "It's just her claws." He nods to Gullveig, who's doing her best to soothe her sister, trapped in this new tiny body that can't be everywhere at once. She's settled on the back of Solveig's neck, where she's cleaning one furry brown ear. Torgrim's hands have dried faster than his arm and they feel hot.

Torgrim gives him his arm back quickly and looks away. "Go get our clothes." He sounds like he's choking all of a sudden, and Solveig slaps her tail on the ground. "It's your fault we're over here."

Atli stumbles a little getting up. Gullveig is making soft warning sounds and his arms still feel warm. Torgrim doesn't seem to notice his stumble. He's curling up again, like he's trying to cover his eyes with his knees. Their fylgjur are still together, Gullveig's fluffy red tail lifting up from between Solveig's furry brown shoulder blades. The colors look nice together.

"We'll be right back," Atli says, trying to figure out if the warm feeling is going to spread any further than his chest.

"You better." Torgrim doesn't look at him.

Gullveig's shifted into a squirrel before, so she knows how to move. Atli picks his way through the brush, trying not to let her get too far ahead. Sometimes she fades out of sight unexpectedly, her fur blending in with the foliage. Then her tufted ears twitch or her tail lashes up and down, letting him know where she is. Even fylgjur who are supposed to blend in don't like to be hidden from their human.

Behind them, another slap from Solveig's tail echoes on the water, and Atli grins to himself. They can't lecture you, exactly, but fylgjur can make themselves clear enough when they want to. He's pretty sure she gets a lot more stern when her sister's not around. It's nice knowing there's someone who can take Torgrim to task when he really needs it. Right now he's overdue.

It doesn't take Atli long to bring their clothes back. "I think we should go back in first," he says. "It's all muddy over here. We should get cleaned off."

"Yeah," Torgrim says, subdued. "Maybe."

They go out into the middle of the lake this time, just to spend a little while splashing in the sun. When they get out they sit under the trees, on rocks so they don't get covered with mud. And even out of the sun, Atli's chest starts to feel warm again when his brother looks at him, and moves toward him in the shade. And the heat spreads further this time, and the way things turn out it's a while before their clothes go back on.

* * *

They hold hands part of the way home, until they get too close to the village. Torgrim doesn't seem entirely happy with how slowly Solveig moves now, but Atlis squeezes his hand whenever he starts to grumble, and he subsides. Gullveig moves around them in circles, waiting patiently for her sister to catch up when she falls behind.

"We really can't let anyone find out," Torgrim warns him again just before they leave the covering of the trees. "We've got to be careful."

"Of course," Atli says, touching his hand again for a second. "We're men now. We can do it, if we're together."

He waits behind in the woods for a while, so no one sees them coming home together, and he keeps Gullveig under his clothes for a few days, even in front of their parents. So no one finds out their fylgjur settled together. Because Torgrim was right. People do notice when that happens, he finds out once he starts listening to grown-up conversations.

Everybody thinks it's normal enough, though, when his Gullveig settles right after his brother's Solveig does for real. Sometimes people do get spurred into settling when they're determined to catch up, and he's always catching up with Torgrim. There's some teasing about Torgrim faking it, but he tells everybody, very sulkily, that she just felt like being a boar for a long while, and how was he supposed to know that wasn't _settling_ , when it's never happened to him before.

They kiss for the first time a couple of weeks later, in bed, and learn immediately that's a bad idea. Not only is the night an uncomfortable one when they have to stop, but it turns out this new kind of inner turbulence also makes your fylgjur upset. So they both get a beating when Gullveig wakes their parents up with her scolding. Torgrim pats him on the back afterwards and says it was his fault too for not thinking things through, so Atli doesn't mind that much. Beatings happen sometimes, but together they're always learning new ways to get around them.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're spoiling her," Torgrim says behind him, around the hair tie in his mouth. They're both down to their leggings on a warm summer evening, getting ready to bed down in a borrowed English house. The sleeping facilities are makeshift, thrown together from the owners' clothes and carpets. The actual bedding's been tossed out the front door, too covered in gore to be of any use.

"She's a good girl. She won't get spoiled." Atli keeps running the comb through Solveig's fur. She's stretched in his lap, eyes half closed and showing her third eyelids underneath. He gives her leathery tail a stroke with his hand and feels a stutter from the larger comb in his own hair.

"You vain thing," Torgrim says over his shoulder. She chirps softly in response. "And you," he adds to Atli, "are a tease."

"I'm ready for another round if you need it."

"And mess your hair up again? We're leaving first thing in the morning. Get over here, you. Don't encourage him." Solveig stands in Atli's lap and clambers down—with just slightly more grace than a real beaver. He gives her hindquarters a parting pat and Torgrim slaps his in return. "Dirty old man. Keep your hands off the lady."

They're all too tired out to get excited again. It's just nice when it's like this, a warm closeness running up the base of his spine the way his brother's hand does at the start of the night. Something no one can ever steal away, the invisible connection between four bodies just as strong as it is between two. One more way to feel his brother's touch, one more warm body to pet and fuss over.

He feels the heat go up his own back and knows Gullveig is on the bedding, showing off her belly to be rubbed. She'll go out looking around, most nights, in the last few minutes when they're getting ready to sleep. But on nights when he and his brother are going to be taking their time with each other, she sticks close to them instead.

One of them will stand guard every now and then, but they like being together usually. They stay in a corner during the intimacies, Solveig curling around her sister just as Atli and Torgrim curl around each other. Their gentle grooming always looks a little prudish when Atli looks over at them during the more heated moments. Never like a reproach, though. Their fylgjur are meant to be close together just the way they are.

He's not sure how much they actually understand about sex. Fylgjur don't mate, even when it's a male and a female that fit together, watching their humans go at it. But they both know not to let anything about this slip to other fylgjur, so they must understand humans have rules about it. Rules that their humans are breaking.

It's a fun rule to break. They must understand that as well, because they've never been anything less than encouraging about it. Even when they were first figuring things out, and worrying all the time about getting caught, Solveig and Gullveig were always there between them at night, cuddling close, guiding their hands together, and reminding their humans how they can't help but be.

"How about getting over here, if you're looking for someone to spoil," Torgrim says, putting the comb away and gathering Solveig up. "She's pretty enough already."

"So're you." Atli blows the lamp out after taking one last glance at the bedding to plan his route in the dark. "You stink," he says affectionately, biting his brother's ear from behind as he settles in and wraps his arms around him.

"Your fault."

"I wasn't complaining." Gullveig curls up at the top of his head, and he can feel Torgrim's arm bending to hold Solveig to his chest. Their fur never gets uncomfortable, even on the hottest nights.

Atli doesn't need reassurance that he's a capable warrior who does a good job in battle. The fact they're still alive is enough proof of that. It's nice feeling it, though, in the way Torgrim's hands are soft on him. The way they have room to be gentle with each other after a day of killing people who thought _they_ had room to be gentle. The two of them are strong enough to have this, alone with each other. There's only one human his brother wants to relax near, and his fylgja sleeps just as easily in Atli's lap as in her human's.

"Think they follow you to Valhalla?"

"What?"

"If you die the right way, you know. D'you think that's where they vanish to?"

Some men think your fylgja waits for you in Valhalla, arriving just before you're ushered in on the arms of the Valkyries. Others point out that fylgjur vanish just the same way when someone dies in bed, and _they're_ certainly not going to Valhalla. One or two men have even offered up the suggestion that fylgjur have their own furry little Valkyries carrying them off to their own Valhalla.

"What're you asking about that for?" Torgrim asks, his tone sharper than Atli expected.

Atli prods him gently to show it's just idle conversation. "Just thinking."

"Don't go thinking about dying when I'm trying to sleep. For fuck's sake."

"Well, we've seen enough of it." Atli chuckles, thinking of how much they've seen just today. Maybe that's why it's on his mind. The wife of the house had a great big red deer with a set of antlers that were almost a shame to see vanish. "I mean, that's half the point of all this, isn't it? A glorious death."

"A nice life's what I'm after, thanks. I don't need you planning out our deaths for me." Torgrim shifts, moving the arm holding onto Solveig out from under Atli's arm.

Gullveig's little feet are already skittering over him to her sister, and in another second Atli can hear them clucking together, his squirrel fylgja doing her best to comfort Solveig. There's no telling sometimes what'll set her off. She certainly doesn't mind waddling over piles of corpses to get back to his brother after a battle.

She waits in the water sometimes, when they're doing a village and can just hop off the boats and get to work. Touching a stranger's fylgja is a jolt even if it's a matter of life and death, so most people won't aim for them in a fight. It'd be like sticking your fingers up someone's arse to make them stop strangling you. Just too strange to contemplate. But there's always the chance someone'll come along who's thought the matter over beforehand and made plans to do whatever it takes.

Gullveig's a different matter. She hops around on her own, dodging friend and foe alike, or hides under Atli's clothes if she really needs to. But Solveig can't move fast enough on land to protect herself. There's arrows to worry about, too, and her size makes her easy to stumble over. So Torgrim makes the most of the few yards they can travel apart, usually, and keeps her well away from the fighting. He's refused to get her armor or anything like that. He thinks it'd look silly.

With the war in England going like it is, there's been a boom in armorers for fylgjur. No one specializes in it, since humans are always going to be the main targets in any battle, but a man who makes armor will generally make you a matching set for your fylgja, unless it's something really ridiculous like a bird.

Bird men aren't the ones heading off into battle, though. They're traders, usually, or they squeak out a living telling stories or singing. Bird women are supposed to be fertile, and attentive as mothers. Good women to leave minding your home while you're at war, but if you're out to get rich you're better off with a squirrel woman or a fox. Bear women have trouble finding husbands, and they usually end up going to war themselves.

Beavers are rare these days, both the real ones and the fylgjur. The real ones had fur too nice to be left alone by humans, and when they started to vanish so did the fylgjur taking their shape. It suits his brother, in Atli's opinion, being kind of a rare commodity. And fylgjur don't have any special attachment to the animals they look like, so Solveig's never expressed any feelings of loneliness. Not to her sister, at least. 

"I don't mean I'm planning on it or anything," Atli says now. "I'm just wondering. Got to happen sometime. And no one really knows what happens when it does."

"It's not going to happen for a long time yet," Torgrim answers in the dark, his voice gentler this time. "That's what I'm here for."

"Of course." Atli reaches for his hand and finds it on Solveig, his fingers buried deep and tight in her thick fur. She's not complaining, but Atli eases his brother's grip, one finger at a time, wondering as he does what has the two of them so tense. His hand's just brushing against the very tips of Solveig's fur, but it's enough to leave them both feeling like they've rolled together even closer, even pressed up against each other like they are.

"Don't go borrowing trouble." Torgrim lifts his hand off his fylgja and Atli's on top comes away with it. There's a chirp from Solveig in front of him as their hands settle on Torgrim's side. "You heard her. She's trying to sleep."

A slight chill rushes over Atli, for just a moment, and he feels Gullveig rushing back. He's already warm again by the time she reaches him. It's a hot night and his brother's close. It was only the feeling of _not_ being close, of some kind of space deeper into his brother where he's not allowed to go. He doesn't know if that's the part a fylgja fills, or if even they can't reach that deep inside a person.

"You think they just vanish, then?" he can't help asking, taking his hand off Torgrim's and feeling Gullveig's furry little body at his breast, making sure he's warm. He's not sure what she and Solveig would do in Valhalla, exactly, but it seems awfully strange to have a place full of people with no fylgjur, just walking around empty. There's always that one story about how you and your fylgja are the same being in Valhalla, one that can change back and forth in battle, but turning into a squirrel doesn't seem like it'll be that helpful when Ragnarok comes.

Torgrim's quiet for so long Atli thinks he's not going to answer. "No," he says at last. "They must stay with you. Why wouldn't they?"

"That's what I think," Atli says, putting his arm back over his brother. "Just makes sense."

Torgrim doesn't say anything back, but he lets Atli's hand meet his again, and their fylgjur make themselves heard. Soft comfortable sounds, like the ones he and his brother make at each other in the afterglow. They like being this way too. Humans and fylgjur alike live their lives split into two halves, two different bodies for heart and mind and soul. Atli and Torgrim are four halves, like no one else on earth.

It's not worth thinking about, honestly. Torgrim's right, they won't have to worry about dying for a long time. And it's not something Atli wants to think about, not if it puts a distance between them. If there's a space in his brother he's not allowed to fill, it's better that it never open up to start with.

* * *

When he finds his brother in the snow, Atli thinks at first his fylgja is gone, vanished into dust with the rest of the band's. It seems there must be a smell lingering beneath the blood, carried on the frozen air. The smell of nothing, of the vacuum left behind when water sucks a man down. Then he sees her, huddled up to Torgrim's leg and so still she could pass for a fur or a severed head.

Torgrim doesn't speak after his first words. But he lets Atli pull him up, looking everywhere for injuries as the men around them carry on about something. His axe is gone, that's all. Someone must've grabbed it. There are no injuries, though. Just emptiness.

The army starts to move, and Atli knows they have to follow. He tries to make Solveig follow along as he leads Torgrim, even nudging her with a foot, but she just stands there. Gullveig nips her, butts at her gently, and gets no response. Instead of her following when the distance gets too much, it's Torgrim whose steps start to falter after just a few feet, and it's all Atli can do to keep him from sinking to his knees. Finally he just picks Solveig up, right there in public, and carries her. Gullveig sits on his shoulder, chittering nervously until Atli snaps at her. His nerves are stretched tight enough as it is.

The soldiers leave them alone as they walk. Like their commander, they're not interested in battles that have ended, only the ones to come. So nothing happens. No talking, just the weight in his arms. He'd prefer to walk behind Torgrim, to keep an eye on him, but Torgrim won't walk unless he's led. Atli checks behind himself, again and again, to make sure he's still back there, moving forward with his head down. Sometimes he has to walk back to where his brother's stopped and get Torgrim's hand fixed back into the pelt around his neck, then draw him back to the army they're following.

A fantasy enters his mind, the second time he does this, that the fur is bringing back good memories, and that's why his brother holds on for so long. But if it is, they can't be memories that mean very much. If they did, Torgrim's hand wouldn't keep slipping away. Maybe it's best to think the fur means nothing at all to whoever's walking around in his brother's body right now.

But Atli pushes that thought down. Fylgjur vanish when their human is gone, and not a moment before. Torgrim's fylgja is here in his arms, and as long as she's here, his brother is too.

His arms are tired when they rest for the night, and Solveig sits passively where he sets her down next to Torgrim. She trembled the whole way here, and when Atli touches his brother's arm he feels the same shiver of an animal in mute pain.

"It's all right now," he tries to tell them. Solveig doesn't respond, and Torgrim just looks at him vacantly.

At last he wraps an arm around his brother, and Gullveig wraps her little body around Solveig as well as she can, and they try to warm their siblings in the way that fire can't. When Atli puts his bare hand on Solveig, after night's fallen, the top layer of her fur is cold, as if all her heat has to be kept inside, in some inner core where it's needed most. It's an awful feeling, like she's been turned into a pelt wrapped around some other being. The warmth of her body has always been there on the nights when he and his brother have been closest. He holds her and Gullveig both in his lap for a while, trying to heat her up, but when she and Torgrim finally fall asleep she's no warmer than before.

Atli sets her down for Torgrim to hold onto in his sleep, and he lies down behind them and holds onto his brother himself. Gullveig sits on top of Solveig, making soft, sharp noises of distress every now and then. Atli listens for her in the silence, rubbing circles on Torgrim's chest, and wishes she knew how to sound more soothing. But he's glad to have something to break this horrible stillness. Even when his hand starts to slow and slip to the ground, she's still keeping watch over her sister.

When they wake together, Solveig and Torgrim are there with them. Atli registers that before he's even had time to be scared. He smells his brother before his eyes are open, feels him before his limbs can move again. But Solveig's exactly where he set her down. Torgrim hasn't gathered her into his arms in the night. That's supposed to be human instinct if they're close enough—when your fylgja fits in them, at least.

As Atli learns over the next few days, there are many things his brother and Gullveig's sister are supposed to do, that they don't any longer. Torgrim's energy is back by the time they've reached civilization, and Solveig's capable of trotting after him when he takes the notion to go running off somewhere. But within their circle of comfort they move about as if unrelated, Solveig sitting still with her paws together until Torgrim moves too far and starts to strain the connection. Then she moves, head down, following the tug of the invisible string. She waddles along without interest until it eases and she can rest again.

There's nothing stopping her from moving, just a kind of stupor to her limbs and a dullness in her eyes that makes her stumble over small objects. Torgrim turns to look sometimes if it's loud enough, but his eyes never pass over her with more than mild momentary interest. He seems to like the more energetic Gullveig, but the beaver who's followed him through life more closely even than his little brother is too quiet and withdrawn to keep his attention.

Atli wishes there were something stopping Solveig, sometimes, because his brother's whims are those of a child now, and like a child he has moods where the only thing on his mind is causing trouble. The only way to restrain him a little is to hold onto Solveig and keep her in one spot. She's heavier than he ever realized, and when he holds her it feels like her body's draining the heat out of him. It makes him feel further away from Torgrim than ever, and he knows he's probably going to start avoiding it entirely soon.

Before that can happen he has a special harness made for the trip home, the kind no feeling human would put on any fylgja, even their own. The man looks at him with disgust, and then with pity when he takes in the state of Torgrim and his fylgja. He measures Solveig with his hands stretched at a careful, respectful distance, and keeps looking sympathetic, and Atli wants to kill him long before the harness and leash are ready. Instead he pays him and thanks him for the rush job, and manages to convince Torgrim to put the harness on her so he doesn't have to touch her in public. Torgrim seems to like the knots in the leather, and Atli's about to buy a few to keep him busy. Then he realizes he shouldn't let his brother get too good at unfastening things.

The flashes of physical attraction might not be the worst part, but they're close. A tug on his hair, or a demanding arm around him, pulling him to look at something cool. Maybe new fathers feel like this, the first time they're in the mood and find their child's beaten them into bed with their wife. It seems like this must be a hundred times worse, but Atli's used to hiding it, at least. It's the first time he ever had to hide it from his brother too.

He ignores the looks they get when they're around people. They fade, at least, as people _notice_. It's almost funny, actually; they'd always worried about these disgusted looks, and now that Atli's getting them it's for walking around with a man's soul tied up on a leash. For leading his brother through the world, acting like his father. Even though this feels less natural than being his lover ever did.

Of all the looks he gets now, he likes the ones best that fade to scorn. They feel more honest than the pity. No one ever pities men like his brother for long. They only have room for that when they know he's someone else's problem to deal with. The village where they grew up isn't going to be much better, but home's the only place left to go when you leave the battlefield in disgrace.

Gullveig sits on her sister most of the time now, and alerts Atli even before the leash does if Torgrim starts to move. She grooms Solveig when they're sitting still. Solveig doesn't respond much, but sometimes when Atli can bring himself to touch her, he thinks she might be relaxing a little bit.

It doesn't seem fair that she should leave his brother now, when fylgja are supposed to guard you closest of all as a child. Atli can't nurse his brother or lay him an egg, and nothing good ever happens when he takes his eyes off him. So there's no way to summon up a little unsettled fylgja to watch over him, in his second childhood. There's only the worn-out husk of his first one, who seems to have severed every string between them save the physical one.

But then, she was there at his side when Atli himself wasn't. Maybe Torgrim was the one who let go of her. There's no way to know.

* * *

"Look at that," Torgrim says excitedly, pointing at a real dog someone's traveling with. Its front paws are up on the side of the boat, eyes half-closed against the salty wind and tongue hanging out as the boat starts to speed up. "Can I have one?"

"We'll see." Atli wonders if his brother will ever figure out, as children always do, that that means no. "Look who you've got already, though. Do you remember her?"

Torgrim picks Solveig up from between his feet and inspects her. Her feet hang down and Atli has to restrain the impulse to help support them. She doesn't show any interest in pulling them up.

"It doesn't do anything," Torgrim says, turning her over and watching her tail droop. He's quiet for a few moments, then shudders and sets her back down quickly. "I want that one. Lemme go pet it."

Atli pats the hand that used to play with his hair in bed. "Don't go up to strange dogs. They'll bite you."

He's had to start paying to attention to parents, of all people, when he passes by one talking to their children. Some of them are more graphic in their warnings, but even with all the carnage the two of them have visited on others, Atli feels strangely protective of this new Torgrim. He doesn't want to tell his brother how wounds can get infected and kill you, or how much it hurts when something really pierces your skin. He's not sure how well Torgrim can imagine _bad things_ , the way he is, and the thought of giving his brother nightmares makes his blood run cold. It's bad enough seeing his eyes well up with tears like a little boy when he skins his knee or gets a splinter. That's the worst that's happened so far, and Atli hopes it'll stay that way.

"He's a nice dog," Torgrim protests. "Look how happy he is."

"You can't always tell," Atli says. Then, suddenly nervous: "Can you remember that for me? Don't trust things just because they look nice. Come and ask me when you see something new, even if you're sure."

"But you look nice," says Torgrim, looking him up and down dubiously. "And you are nice. So," he adds in a flash of inspiration, "who should I be asking about you?"

Gullveig nips out from between his heels then, and Torgrim turns to watch her climb a rope, her red fur visible even at the very height of the mast. Some instinct seems to keep him from trying to bother other people's fylgjur—thankfully—but he does like watching Gullveig. He hasn't tried to touch her, either. Even though Atli wishes he would. Even in public, it would be fine. Just to know she means more to him than a distraction.

Maybe it's his fault, for wanting just a little bit to be his brother's favorite. For enjoying the moments where Torgrim was thinking of him and him alone. His brother hasn't touched Solveig before now, either, and it doesn't look like he'll try again if he's not reminded she exists.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says quietly to Torgrim's fylgja, who remains where she was set down as Torgrim himself stands up and moves toward the ropes, craning his head up and not looking where he's walking. Solveig doesn't look at him, or twitch an ear to show she's heard.

"What's that?" asks a little girl beside him, and turning to look at her, Atli sees a kitten fylgja clutched in her arms. The girl squats to inspect Solveig's webbed back feet, and at the same time, with all the casualness of youth, she lifts the kitten in both fists, out of the way of her rising knees. "Does she swim?"

For an instant Atli wants to shove her overboard and ask, _Can you?_ Instead he says, "Beaver. There used to be a lot more of them around. She doesn't swim, she's too old."

"Is she yours?" It's easier, once your fylgja's settled, to pick out who belongs to who. But this girl's body and her fylgja alike are still young and flexible. There's no such thing, for her, as being too brittle to change.

Atli looks up to check that Torgrim's not leaning over the side of the boat. He doesn't know if his brother can swim anymore, either, and he's not keen on finding out the hard way. Gullveig is still holding his attention, rushing up and down in little bursts and jumping from rope to rope. She'd let him know if Torgrim were in danger, of course. She'll watch his brother for him like he's watching her sister.

With one gloved hand he reaches down and pats the top of Solveig's head for a moment. "Yeah," he answers, less curtly this time. "She's mine."

**Author's Note:**

> Atli's Gullveig settles as a Eurasian red squirrel, which is still doing fine, and Torgrim's Solveig settles as a Eurasian beaver, which went extinct in Denmark around 1000 AD but has since been reintroduced. If we assume they're in their early to mid-30s in canon, that means his fylgja is settling about a decade before the real species is believed to have vanished.


End file.
